


He Who Was Elil

by Manuscriptor



Category: Watership Down (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: Fiver isn't the only one who has visions, Lore Building, Multi, idk if there is more Lore in the book or not but I'm kinda writing my own, it should also say Bluebell & Blackberry not /, note: I've watched the original movie and the 2018 one, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-12-27 01:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18294314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manuscriptor/pseuds/Manuscriptor
Summary: Bluebell is the Story Weaver of the new Warren and takes his job seriously. After one particular story time with the kits though, he is struck by a vision and has the chance to learn about certain Rabbits of Old he never knew existed.Also, Blackberry is there





	1. He who was Elil

“El-ahrairah invented many tricks and wiles to escape the jaws of those that Frith had sent after him. He learned how to hide his scent in water and to run circles in the grass. He learned how to double back on his trail and how to hide in the bushes. He learned how to kick and scratch in a fight that got too dangerous. El-ahrairah learned many, many tricks to survive the Elil, and we still use them today.”

Bluebell loved the way rabbits hung onto his words when he told stories. Nobody listened to him usually but as soon as he started talking about El-ahrairah or Frith or Legends of Old, every rabbit lent an ear and looked to him as if he knew all there was to know in the world.

“But El-ahrairah always knew his place,” Bluebell went on. “El-ahrairah was tricky and cunning and had the speed of a thousand rabbits, he still knew he was a rabbit. A Lago like you or I.”

“What do you mean, Uncle Bluebell?”

Bluebell smiled down at the small kit who was the spitting image of Blackberry right down to the kit's twitching nose and his fluffed tail. And Bluebell had to admit that he had a bias towards Blackberry's kits out of all the kits of the Warren. They had come much later than his own as Blackberry had taken quite a while to choose a doe. Bluebell would definitely attribute that to the about of time Blackberry spent around himself, but Bluebell wasn't going to complain.

His own kits were now full grown, does and bucks that protected the Warren and kept the peace. Bluebell was proud and now that he was in an old age, he could spend his days entertaining Blackberry's kits and everyone else's kits with story upon story.

“What I mean,” Bluebell said, finally getting around to answering the kit's question. “Is that no matter how tricky and cunning El-ahrairah got, he remembered that the best plan was to always run and the best trick was to always hide. He remembered that grass is sweet and the leaves are narn. That gardens are a rabbit's best friend and a well-built warren is the best defense.”

“But how do I _forget_ to be a rabbit?” another kit ask. Marigold. She was always one to ask the harder questions.

Bluebell chuckled. “That is what my story is about, Marigold-roo,” he said. “This story is about a rabbit who forgot he was a rabbit.”

All the kits gathered around him giggled into their paws.

“It is not a funny story,” Bluebell said. “It's a warning. This rabbit didn't just forget he was a rabbit. He made a grave mistake, for he thought he was _Elil_.”

All the kits gasped and huddled together a bit tighter. Bluebell paused dramatically, taking a moment to relish in the fact that he was barely into the story and the kits were already captivated.

“General Woundwort was a vicious rabbit the size of a lendri,” Bluebell said, starting off the tale like he always did, with danger and intrigue. “He ran a tyrannical warren with hundreds of rules and no mercy. The does had no freedom, and the bucks were all marked by scars for they fought for every scrap of food to survive.”

“Bigwig! Bigwig!” a couple of kits in the back chanted, jumping to their feet in excitement, for they had head this tale before and knew all about the Battle of the Warrens.

Bluebell sighed but couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. “Yes, Bigwig. He’s very important in this story, but not yet. First, you have to understand that General Woundwort didn’t think that rabbits had been gifted with many tricks. Instead, he thought rabbits had been gifted with teeth and claws and that El-ahrairah wanted them to fight. But rabbits never fight other rabbits.”

“Unless it’s over a doe,” as cheeky young kit trilled, twitching her ears and puffing out her chest like she knew exactly what she was talking about.

Bluebell thumped his hind leg as all the kits began giggling and talking about bucks and does and their moms and dads. It took several moments, but they eventually settled down, and Bluebell had their attention once again.

“Now, Car-roo,” he chided. “If you don’t let me finish my story, General Woundwort will come for you in the night, and no bucks _or_ does will be fighting over you.”

Car-roo squeaked in alarm and ducked behind the kit next to her, her sister, hiding from the imaginary threat of General Woundwort. Satisfied that he had order again, Bluebell continued, puffing out his chest and shifting into a slightly more comfortable position.

“General Woundwort thought he was Elil,” Bluebell said, feeling like he was starting the story all over with the amount of interruptions he was getting. “And there is a terrible danger in thinking you are something that you are not, even if El-ahrairah has given us many tricks and wiles.”

“When does Bigwig come in?” a kit at the back of the audience called.

“Soon, _soon_ , if you’d let me speak,” Bluebell said.

The kits all chittered with laughter, like it was some big joke not to respect their elders. Bluebell huffed and gave them all a glare that shut them up. Perhaps he would just skip straight to Bigwig’s part in the whole thing, but that would be an insult to storytelling. Of course, if the kits wouldn't sit through half a tick to hear the story as it was, that wasn't Bluebell's fault.

“As you know,” he said. “Bigwig fought many Elil and he conquered many as well. He was a rabbit who drew blood and a powerful one at that. Bigwig only fought and killed Elil for the sake of the Warren. Rabbits don't fights rabbits. Understand, kits?”

They all murmured their agreement, much more captivated now that Bigwig was in the story.

“But as I said before, General Woundwort was not a rabbit, and Bigwig killed Elil like a rah,” Bluebell said. “The battle happened on a stormy day with no rain. Our Warren was new and freshly dug, all the tunnels still unstable and not yet hardened into a sure structure. Our does knew how to collapse what was needed though and saved us from many deaths.”

 

“Tell us about the Elil with big teeth!” a kit chimed in, jumped to their feet excitedly. “The Elil that Fiver brought!”

“I thought you wanted to hear about Bigwig?” Bluebell sputtered.

“I want to hear about the Elil with big teeth!” Car-roo called, sending all the kits into a clambering of excitement as they each yelled out what they wanted to hear in the story from Bigwig, to the Elil, to General Woundwort, to Frith, to Kehaar.

And then a loud squawk from outside caught all the kits’ attention and they squealed in delight as the noise marked the return of said bird which meant the start of a fun game of fetching worms and bugs in exchange for short stories of the big water that Kehaar came from. They all stampeded over each other to get out of the burrow as fast as possible, leaving Bluebell all alone with his half-finished story.

He huffed and grumbled and turned to the pile of flay that he had been brought. He munched almost angrily, mumbling about kits that couldn’t sit still and stories that needed to be told lest they be forgotten. Kits these days were just too rude!

“Hey there,” came a soft voice. “Don’t tell me the kits left you in here all alone. _Again_.”

A familiar body crawled into the burrow next to Bluebell and settled in beside him, snuggled tightly side by side as there wasn’t a lot of room to spare in the first place. Somehow they fit though, and Bluebell sighed in contentment as he could easily turn and bury his nose in Blackberry’s fur. He did just that, not wanting to look up and see the teasing twinkle in his best friend’s eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “They can never sit still long enough for a story anymore.”

“Which one was it this time?” Blackberry asked, nuzzling his head on top of Bluebell’s.

“The one about Elil,” Bluebell said, wondering how Blackberry’s fur got so soft when he was part of the Warren’s Owlsa and constantly running through undergrowth and brambles. “The one about Woundwort being Elil and how Bigwig saves the day.”

Blackberry laughed, and Bluebell could feel his body shake as they were pressed so close. He smiled because his face was more than hidden enough.

“But that’s the best one,” Blackberry said, acting overly offended. “Kits these days! Have no respect for their elders!”

“They were _your_ kits,” Bluebell said with a laugh, butting his head into Blackberry’s shoulder and then hopping to his feet. “I think they learned all of their respect from you. All Owlsa and no storytellers, none of them. They just want the action of life and not the action of stories. Can’t sit still for more than five sentences and then they’re asking questions and getting distracted and running off with Kehaar.”

Blackberry laughed and rolled onto his back, showing his stomach to Bluebell. An Owlsa showing off for a storyteller—it was almost a joke with a punchline. Bluebell shook the dirt out of his fur from sitting so long and did his best not to stare.

“They sound like us when we were younger,” Blackberry said, nudging Bluebell with a foot in an attempt to get his attention.

Bluebell huffed. “They sound like _you_ when _you_ were younger,” he said. Blackberry’s belly looked as soft as his top fur. And inviting.

“Oh, don’t act like you weren’t just as wild,” Blackberry said, looking at him upside down. “If you were so Frith-honorable and not hare-brained, you would have never left Sandleford. You would still be under Threarah and probably a ton of dirt.”

Bluebell wrinkled his nose. “You act like you weren’t the reason I left,” he said. “I was following _you_ , remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Blackberry said as if he were just recalling the events. He smirked up at Bluebell. “What was that like? Following me out of a Warren? Didn’t have the courage of Frith to leave on your own. Had to follow the tail of a rabbit so handsome that El-ahrairah himself wanted him in his Owlsa—oof!”

Bluebell flopped himself on top of Blackberry halfway through his ridiculous speech, sprawling himself over the smaller, but much stronger rabbit. Blackberry, at least, gasped for breath as he was caught off guard by the sudden attack. He squirmed for a bit, but Bluebell had him successfully pinned by size alone. Serves the threar-head right. Bluebell scoffed. Handsome? Hraka!

“Get off of me, you overfed rabbit!” Blackberry said, worming his hind legs underneath Bluebell and giving him several taps to his stomach. “You weigh as much as a stone!”

Bluebell took offense to that and would have stayed exactly where he was, but Blackberry was part of the Owlsa and much stronger than he looked. He was smaller but all muscle and sinew, not like Bluebell. He twisted and struggled, and even if Bluebell was bigger than him, it only took him a couple minutes to squeeze his way to safety and hop out of the burrow, fur spiked up and in a mess.

“Come on, you big oaf!” he said, hopping back and forth and obviously trying to taunt Bluebell into chasing after him. “Come outside! Let’s roll in the grass! We haven’t had a good wrestle in a long time.”

“Go shove a carrot in your mouth,” Bluebell said, but he couldn’t help but smile at the smaller rabbit, so easily caught up in his game and high energy.

Blackberry flicked his tail and ears, bouncing back and forth a couple times, eyes flitting from the exit of the burrow to Bluebell and back again. With one last flick of his tail, he bounded out of the Warren and into the open air. Bluebell was jumping after him though, lunging to catch up and tackle him, but Blackberry had Owlsa tricks. He zigged and zagged and dodged every pounce the Bluebell attempted. After several moments of hard chasing, Bluebell was able to time a pounce and tackle Blackberry off his feet, sending them both tumbling through the grass.

“You let me catch you,” Bluebell immediately accused, pinning Blackberry to the earth like he had back in the burrow.

“You wouldn’t have gotten me otherwise,” Blackberry said, twisting and tapping his nose right on Bluebell’s cheek.

Bluebell immediately pulled back in surprise, caught off guard by the display of affection and certainly not expecting it so suddenly. Blackberry used the moment of distraction to wiggle free and dart off again, bounding away with a flick of his ears and tail, trailing laughter behind him.

“You scoundrel!” Bluebell called, jumping after him as fast as he could.

But he wasn’t mad, not really. It was just a game that he and Blackberry played very often and both of them knew that the insults weren’t actually real. Bluebell chased Blackberry’s black flag of a tail through a bramble of bushes and over the rolling hills that surrounded their Warren. He couldn’t keep up the chase for long. He was a storyteller and Blackberry was Owlsa. Bluebell still tried, bounding after the other rabbit until he was out of breath, and finally collapsed in a tuft of grass under the rays of the sun.

He only had to wait a couple moments before Blackberry was peering over him, a look of concern and mirth mixed on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, but he was smiling.

“Damn Owlsa,” Bluebell huffed.

Blackberry grinned and flopped down next to him, halfway on top of Bluebell and halfway off. It was a lot warmer snuggling together under the sun out in the open rather in the cool of a burrow. Bluebell didn’t mind too much. He just twitched his ears more open than usual and closed his eyes.

It was nice, after spending so long cooped up in his borrow, to get out and just nap under the sun. They had run far enough away from the main borrows and the chatter of the kits and other rabbits. It was quiet and peaceful. Bluebell loved whenever he could spend time like this with Blackberry, away from everyone else and just alone.

He let himself doze, drifting off to Frith-knows-where in his mind.

Like usual, it was the stories that took over his mind. El-ahrairah bounded up from the black depths, followed by Rabscuttle, both rabbits as large as canines but a nimble and quick as the wind. Stars glinted in their fur and, as they moved, they left glittering streaks across the black space in Bluebell’s mind. He twitched and smiled at the pleasant stories. As he watched, El-ahrairah and Rabscuttle evaded the dastardly clutches of Hufsa and King Darzin.  

The stories were something that Bluebell recognized. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

El-ahrairah darted particularly close to him, and several stars fell from his fur, twinkling down onto Bluebell’s own shoulders. But the moment they sunk into Bluebell’s fur, they burned and hissed, hitting his skin and making him yelp. He jerked in the shadowy darkness of his own mind, fighting to get away from the pain.

But he had nowhere to go.

El-ahrairah and Rabscuttle seemed to loom over him, staring down almost in disappointment as Bluebell scratched at his shoulders, trying to dislodge the stars. Other stars burned alive and bright in their own coats, not hurting them as far as Bluebell could tell. But he wasn’t like them! The stars burned! He had to get them out of his fur! Now!

But.

Suddenly.

El-ahrairah and Rabscuttle were no longer themselves. They melted and lost their shapes, eyeballs falling out of their skulls and fur ripping out only to get lost in the wind. Their skeletons crumbled to dust and turned into mud in Bluebell’s tears.

And from the mud rose up another rabbit, one larger and more intimidating. The new rabbit was not lithe and wiry like El-ahrairah or Rabscuttle. He was hulking and looming, and a jagged scar ran down his face, over one eye and making it cloudy and white. His front teeth were thick and scratched from biting things that were not grass and roots, and Bluebell knew all too well that those teeth could definitely shatter bone. And as the rabbit loomed higher and higher and Bluebell grew smaller and smaller, the sense of dread and danger only swelled more and more until it was choking Bluebell.

He gasped and twitched, unable to escape his own mind as General Woundwort, now as tall as a tree, snarled over him, drool and spit dripping out of his mouth.

“Bluebell!” a voice in the darkness called. “Bluebell! You have to wake up!”

Bluebell couldn't see anything in the darkness though, and General Woundwort seemed to surround him, blocking any sort of exit or escape. Bluebell darted in quick circles, lost and scared and terrified and trapped. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't see anything but General Woundwort.

“Bluebell?” the voice called again. “Please!”

“Blackberry!” Bluebell called, desperate for someone he recognized in the midst of the pain and darkness and terror.

General Woundwort was circling closer now, cackling and smiling as Bluebell paced in tight circles. He was too large! Too dangerous! Too close! Bluebell had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. He was trapped in a circle as General Woundwort snapped closer and closer until his looming shadow took over Bluebell's mind and everything when dark.

 

~~~

 

Bluebell woke up in a place that he didn’t recognize. The darkness wasn’t the same as the darkness of his mind, so Bluebell somehow knew that he was somewhere else. He pushed himself to his feet, as if he had just woken up, and shook himself.

Stars fell out of his fur.

Stars.

Bluebell looked down at his paws and at the stars that had fallen out of them. Stars that didn’t burn. Stars that still shimmered and sparkled in whatever darkness where he was. He looked back over his shoulder at all the stars that now settled into the rest of his coat from his ears down to his tail.

They didn’t burn.

Before Bluebell could think of anything to say or do, another huge paw stepped out of the darkness in front of him, and another huge rabbit stepped out of the unfamiliar darkness. It wasn’t as huge as before. Instead of towering trees over Bluebell, the rabbit was only two shoulders higher than him, lithe and lean and muscular.

It was El-ahrairah, solemn and formal. Stars, more like galaxies, sparkled in his own fur, swirling around his eyes and ears and down to his tail. He stood tall and proud, even as he stooped down and pressed his nose against Bluebell’s forehead.

It was cold. That was the first thing that struck Bluebell. The stars burned hot but the rest of El-ahrairah was cold. It was an odd contradiction.

“What’s going on?” Bluebell asked. He spoke quietly and respectfully, but his voice still echoed around the dark space.

“My child,” El-ahrairah said, his voice a low rumble that echoed even more than Bluebell’s did. “Do you know why you are here?”

“I . . . I don’t even know where I am,” Bluebell said. “El-ahrairah, this isn’t my mind!”

El-ahrairah sat back on his haunches, still twice as tall as Bluebell. The stars in his fur glimmered and shifted as he moved. He cleared his throat as if he were going to start a story, but he didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“I am not a storyteller,” he finally said. “I do not know how to weave words. Or build a world. Or do anything that a storyteller does.”

Bluebell continued standing awkwardly until he realized that they weren’t going anywhere. He sat as well, right in front of the larger rabbit. “But you are El-ahrairah,” he said. “Can’t you . . . aren’t you able to do everything?”

El-ahrairah chuckled, the noise just as deep as his voice, maybe deeper. “I am a leader,” he said. “I am a rah. That does not mean I know everything. A good rah understands this. That is why I have Rabscuttle, the leader of my Owlsa. And I have Monticular.”

“Monticular?” Bluebell repeated, cocking his head. “I . . . I apologize, El-ahrairah, I . . . I have never heard of that name.”

El-ahrairah laughed again, his eyes closing in mirth as his chest shook. “That is not very strange,” he said. “For everyone seems to remember the Owlsa and the rah. No one seems to remember the Story Weavers.”

Bluebell felt his heart skip a beat at that. “Story Weavers?” he said. “El-ahrairah . . . ?”

El-ahrairah hummed and crouched down, folding his paws in front of him as he settled down. “Again,” he said. “I am no Story Weaver myself. I am a rah. My words do not hold that same magic and tell that Monticular’s did. I will do my best to explain.”

Bluebell sat in the same way, folding himself up small as he settled in for El-ahrairah’s story.

Everything else in my mind faded away as unimportant. Any outside noise, any disturbance. He was closed off to everything but El-ahrairah and his story.

“It started a long time ago,” El-ahrairah said. “When Frith first breathed life into the world, he created all manner of beasts from Elil to Lago. He dedicated time and energy to each, lovingly crafting them with everything that they needed to leave. He created myself with all my tricks and wiles. He created Homba with scarlet fur and cunning. He created Pfeffa with their balance and ability to hunt.”

Bluebell didn’t want to be impatient, but it was hard to focus in the uncharacteristic blackness of where he was. He didn’t want to rush El-ahrairah but he wasn’t sure how long he was allowed to sit in this space without the fear of burning stars or threat of hunger.

“I know this, El-ahrairah,” he said. “These are stories that I was told. They are ones that I know.”

But El-ahrairah didn’t scowl and sneer down at him. Instead, he smiled. “You now see why I am not a Story Weaver,” he said apologetically. “A rah, they tend to ramble when there is nothing to say just for the sake of hearing themselves speak. I’m sure you know this.”

Bluebell wasn’t sure if he was allowed to laugh.

“Forgive me,” El-ahrairah said. “Let me try again, and see if I can start at a place that is more reasonable.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. So long, in fact, that Bluebell began to think that the great rabbit was not going to continue. He had interrupted the story at a very important part and now El-ahrairah would not finish.

But just as that thought crossed his mind, El-ahrairah was speaking.

“It all started after Frith,” El-ahrairah said. “A long time after Frith, after the world had grown out of its infancy and was more wise and wild. All of Frith’s creations had had many children at that point. I had had many children.”

El-ahrairah opened his eyes and smiled.

“Rabscuttle was one of my first,” he said. “And he was like me. Strong and fast, very nimble. He could run quick, jump far, and trick even the wiliest of Elil.”

Bluebell nodded for he knew this.

“Netscheri was one that came after,” El-ahrairah continued. “She was my Digger. She dug burrows and tunnels that stretched for miles and she knew every nook and cranny of it too. She could jump and run just as fast as Rabscuttle and she knew when it was better to hide than fight. She tricked many Elil into coming into our Warren and that was the last mistake they ever made.”

Bluebell listened intently, for this was something he didn’t know.

“Dicei was one that came a long, long time after Frith,” El-ahrairah said. “A kit when the world was just as young as him. He did not grow like all the other Lago. He stayed small and quick no matter how many times the sun turned or the moon changed. He kept the Warren alive and young with his own youth. We loved Dicei as he was a picture of our future. Or what our future could be.”

Bluebell had never heard these stories, never had they been woven by his old Warren and never had they been woven by any of the Warrens he had visited.

“Monticular, however, was the first Story Weaver,” El-ahrairah said. “He was mild and timid compared to the rest of my Warren. He was not fast, though he could run. He was not filled with tricks, though he could always escape the jaws of Elil. Monticular was curious about the world in a way unlike all the other Lago. He knew how to capture it in his voice and carry it in his heart until he spoke it into existence later, suns and moons and miles away from where it originally was.”

“The first Story Weaver?” Bluebell said, jumping to his feet. “El-ahrairah, I have never heard of such a rabbit!”

El-ahrairah closed his eyes and nodded, looking almost mournful. “I told you rah are terrible at telling stories,” he said, a sad sort of joking. “We talk to hear ourselves, not to pass knowledge or to create worlds or to weave tales. I cannot ask you to forgive me for losing my own son to time and history. I ask for you to let me fix that now.”

Bluebell forced himself to sit back down and crouch in his previous position in front of El-ahrairah. He did his best to calm his racing heart and prepare himself for the story he was about to hear, even though it would be told by a rah.

 


	2. The First Story Weaver

Monticular was a brown rabbit with yellow eyes and he ran at the back of the Warren. He could dig, but not as well as Netscheri. He could run, but not as well as Rabscuttle. He could laugh and play, but not as well as Dicei. He didn’t seem to be anything in particular. Just part of El-ahrairah’s Warren.

Most days, he grazed with the rest of his group, ran from whatever Elil happened across their Warren, and followed El-ahrairah on whatever adventures or tricks he happened to go on. He sometimes served as a distraction or as a background piece to any of El-ahrairah’s plans. He didn’t mind and he didn’t complain. He was alive when the world was young, and there was plenty of lands to explore.

The forests were all thick and heavy and the roots of all the trees created vast labyrinths for any rabbit to explore, and El-ahrairah’s Warren often hid and hunted within these shadowed depths.

The day was not a particular one though. Frith was bright and shining, showing his full face to the world in a rare moment of benevolence. El-ahrairah led the whole of his Warren out into the fields to enjoy the flay and the warmth and each other.

Monticular found a place to sun his fur and to fill his stomach. It was near the edge of the Warren, where he usual spent his time and wasn’t out of the ordinary. Therefore, it was natural, that when King Darzin’s ilk swept out of the river and converged on the Warren, Monticular was the first to see the threat and the first to raise the alarm.

He jumped to his feet and bounded towards the where the rest of the Warren, calling out the danger as more and more of King Darzin’s kind slipped up from the water.

“Danger! Danger!” he yelled. “King Darzin! At the riverside! Make for the burrows!”

In a heartbeat, the rest of the Warren were on their feet and calling out the warning, spreading the alarm and the panic. They moved quickly, like all rabbits did, darting around and over each other, jumping and kicking and fighting their way to safety.

Netscheri was at the head, her black fur gleaming with stars of silver, digging out tunnels and showing everyone the best way to run. She collapsed tunnels behind them too, cutting off the way for King Darzin and securing the lives of any rabbit who escaped underground.

Rabscuttle was there too, darting around and delivering quick jabs and blows to any of Darzin’s kind who dared to come too close. He slipped between their ranks, biting where he could and scratching as well. Fighting like the Owlsa he was.

And, of course, El-ahrairah was there, laughing as he made the invaders crash into each other and trip over their own feet. He was so fast, he was a blur. He didn’t fight like Rabscuttle did. Instead, he bounced off heads, tied up tails, and escaped the gnashing teeth ever every snap and bite. It was a joke to him, almost, too easy to evade their attacks.

“Hurry, hurry!” Netscheri called, flicking her ears towards a burrow she had just dug, motioning for Monticular to jump inside. “I’ll be right behind and collapse it too, so no one can follow.”

“Thanks!” Monticular said with a gasp for breath.

He dove into the small hole, wiggling to get inside and hurrying down the dark tunnel until he reached the small burrow Netscheri had hollowed out. Already, there were a dozen or so rabbits huddled inside, wide-eyed with fear. None seemed to be wounded though, which was a blessing. Monticular pressed himself into their ranks, adding his body to the count and listening to the scuffle happen overhead.

He winced at every screech of pain, wondering if it was one from their Warren. Or worse, El-ahrairah himself.

But Monticular had faith in his rah and the cunning and tricks of his rah. King Darzin had attempted such a thing before—never in such a large scale, but still—and El-ahrairah had always bested them. And he would this time, all the same. Monticular huddled in a bit closer with his neighbors. Yes, El-ahrairah would win just like he always did.

With a muffled thud, the beginning of their tunnel, the section right after Netscheri’s collapse, crashed down, sending sunlight scattered through the dark and all the rabbits pressing themselves into the back of the burrow as far as they could go.

El-ahrairah crashed through with the landslide of dirt, yelping when his back leg landed in a hard way. He twisted and kicked to right himself just as King Darzin pulled himself over the edge of the dirt with a snarl.

“El-ahrairah!” Monticular cried. He jumped up, wanting to help, but frozen.

“Rah!” Netscheri called.

She did jump forward, pummeling King Darzin with her front paws in an effort to push him back. With a twist, King Darzin struck her away with his tail, sending her tumbling out of the burrow and out of sight. Monticular winced at the thought of broken limbs.

Monticular put himself between King Darzin and the rest of the rabbits in the burrow. He didn’t think he would be able to do much, but perhaps he could stall long enough for El-ahrairah to recover. He bristled up his fur and laid back his ears, trying to look as intimidating as Rabscuttle.

Speaking of the Owlsa, Rabscuttle leaped over the top of King Darzin’s back with a battle cry, landing on his head and slashing at his eyes with his claws.

“Run!” he called to the rest of the rabbits. “Another burrow! There are safer tunnels! Rah and I will hold them off!”

“Here!” Monticular called, jumping out of the half-collapsed burrow and leading the way out of the danger. He didn’t know exactly where the burrows Rabscuttle was talking about were but he could certainly find them.

The battle ground—for that was what the field above them had become—was roiling with chaos. King Darzin’s kind were everywhere, grappling with rabbits when they could catch them. It wasn’t often with how quick and agile the Warren could move and how slow and clumsy King Darzin’s kind were. But when a rabbit was caught, it was bloody and didn’t end well.

Monticular turned away from those cases, not wanting to see the carnage.

On the far side of the field, in the tangled roots of the forest, Monticular could see the holes of their home burrows, carefully crafted by Netscheri and the safest place to be during any attack. Monticular would lead the rabbits there and hope for the best. They could be fast and run as well as Rabscuttle and escape the jaws of the Elil.

“Here!” he called, jumping over the bodies and carnage of the elil.

He ran without looking back, simply hoping that the rabbits fared as well as he did and kept their wits about them. Blood had already made the ground muddy and unstable, and Monticular almost lost his balance several times. He was terrified of getting blood in his fur, thought it was already caked on his paws.

He shuddered to think about it.

With one giant leap, he cleared the last of the Elil and dove deep into an open burrow. It was empty surprisingly, but that only left room for all the rabbits that came after him. They huddled tightly together, shivering in fear and terror as they battle raged.

Monticular counted heads.

He swallowed hard when he came up several short.

“Will El-ahrairah be okay?” one rabbit asked. Monticular recognized them as a rabbit who often ran with Rabscuttle as part of the Owlsa. “King Darzin has never attacked like this.”

“He means to destroy the Warren!” a doe called. She was a respectable mother, one who had had many kits before. Usually it was she who comforted those who were scared and not the other way around.

“He will kill us all!” a young buck wailed. He had not seen much of the world and had only ever known the danger of King Darzin in tales before today.

Monticular didn't know what he was supposed to do. He watched the mouth of the burrow for several long seconds, tensing and waiting for an Elil to find and attack them. But nothing came. He didn't dare breathe a sigh of relief just yet.

“It will be alright,” he told the small group of rabbits. “El-ahrairah has never lost a battle. Not with King Darzin!”

“How do you know?” the doe asked. She pressed herself even further back into the burrow.

“Because,” Monticular said.

Did he know? No, he didn't. He had to say something though. All these rabbits, these terrified eyes, all looking to him for an answer. What was he supposed to give them? False promises? He took a breath and looked back to the mouth of the burrow. He moved himself between the rabbits and the outside.

“Because,” he said, starting over with a bit more confidence than before. “Because I have seen El-ahrairah fight before!”

“We've all seen him fight,” another buck said with a grumble.

“Yes,” Monticular said patiently. “But he has beaten King Darzin before and today he will do it again!”

That caught the rabbits’ attention and they all hushed down, staring at him and waiting for him to continue. They weren’t shaking as much, and the clamor from the fight outside seemed to have faded for the moment.

“It had been cloudy and dangerous,” Monticular said, the scene already taking shape in his mind. “For Frith had hid his face for several days and had yet to return. El-ahrairah had gotten trapped at the crest of a waterfall.”

It made the tale more high stakes. In the water, King Darzin would have the advantage. With his wide flat tail, he could swim with much more ease and overtake El-ahrairah in a moment. It kept the rabbits on the edges of their toes, breathless for what came next.

“It thundered over the edge, filling the air with mist and made it hard to see anything,” Monticular said. “El-ahrairah was trapped on a stone that overlooked the edge, with no choice but to either jump to his death or face the Elil who wanted his blood."

“I don’t remember that every happening,” the doe murmured.

“It’s true!” Monticular said. “El-ahrairah was trapped with nowhere to go! He didn’t have his Owlsa or his Warren to help him. He was alone, and King Darzin was closing in.”

The rabbits weren’t asking many questions now. They all huddled close, hanging onto his every word. Monticular paused just to make them wait, to give the story more suspense. The fighting outside was completely forgotten now, an afterthought to what Monticular was saying. It no longer seemed to matter if the story was true or not. It was more a safe place to retreat to.

“King Darzin crawled up onto the stone, claws scraping dangerous,” Monticular said. “His teeth flashed in the light of the moon as he reared back, ready to tear El-ahrairah’s throat out and throw him to the water!”

The rabbits gasped in horror.

“But El-ahrairah wasn’t out a tricks yet,” Monticular said, not wanting the rabbits to fall into despair. “El-ahrairah still knew how to run and jump and kick, even when he was trapped. And he still had all the tricks given to him by Frith. El-ahrairah was trapped but he wasn't done yet!”

“What happened?” a doe asked.

“How did he escape?” another buck said.

Monticular smiled for he now had their attention trapped just like El-ahrairah was in his tail.

“He waited,” Monticular said, hushing his voice so that all the rabbits leaned forward eagerly. “El-ahrairah waited and he waited and he waited. King Darzin heaved himself up out of the water and onto the stone. As you know, King Darzin is slower on land but no less dangerous. He snapped at El-ahrairah, biting and clawing. If he got a chance to use his tail, El-ahrairah was surely done for!”

The rabbits all waited with bated breath.

“El-ahrairah looked around,” Monticular said. “He looked at the roaring water. He looked at the small stretch of some between himself and the edge. He looked at the Elil who wanted to spill his blood and take his life. El-ahrairah was fast and powerful though. With a gigantic leap, bigger than any leap he had done before, El-ahrairah sailed over King Darzin's head and landed on his back. He dug in with his claws and teeth as King Darzin growled and snarled in anger and tried to shake him off.”

Monticular did his best to mimic the bucking in such a small space. He kicked out his back feet and put dust in the air. He snarled as quietly and fiercely as he could without alerting anyone outside of their hiding place. It had the desired effect. All the rabbits cringed back, their minds seeing King Darzin from the story and not just small, timid Monticular.

“King Darzin could not strike with his tail,” Monticular said. “He could not rip with his claws. He could not bite with his teeth. El-ahrairah was out of reach and safe. For the moment.”

Monticular grinned mischievously, now getting caught up in his own story and have fun with it.

“El-ahrairah clung on for dear life,” he said. “But he could feel himself getting tired. He had run for a long while before getting trapped and Frith had not made him to fight head to head with elil. His muscles flagged and his breath was not as sure, but he hung on. For if he fell off, that would be the end of him and King Darzin would kill him without mercy.”

One rabbit gasped. They all huddled a bit closer.

“And then,” Monticular said. “Frith broke through the clouds above, reaching down to touch the earth as he usually did. El-ahrairah used the last of his strength to pull King Darzin into place, and Frith raked his fingers across the Elil’s eyes. He howled in pain, and El-ahrairah had the advantage! With a ferocious kick, he sent King Darzin tumbled off the rock and over the side of the waterfall!”

Monticular was almost out of breath, amazed that the story had been such a good distraction. Still, he almost regretted getting to the end, but the rabbits needed to hear about El-ahrairah winning.

“King Darzin tumbled into the water below,” Monticular said. “He did not perish, but El-ahrairah escaped to run another day. And he will do the same today. El-ahrairah cannot be trapped by one such as King Darzin and any of his kind. He is much too quick and much too tricky. Just you wait and see! King Darzin is nothing compared to him.”

“What’s this about comparing me to that overgrown Elil?”

Monticular spun around in alarm and laughed when he saw El-ahrairah standing at the entrance to the burrow. He was limped, his back leg leaking a bit of blood, and his ears didn’t stand as tall as they normally did. He was missing a couple patches of fur and he looked exhausted, but he was alive.

“Rah! Rah!” all the other rabbits cheered, rushing forward out of the burrow to greet their leader and celebrate the victory.

Monticular followed them.

Indeed, the field was strewn with bodies from both sides, but King Darzin was nowhere to be seen and the rest of the kind were retreating back into the river.

“Quickly,” El-ahrairah urged, directing the rabbits to the wounded. “They need help. Let us get them back to the Warren and into their burrows.”

The rabbits obeyed, jumping to help their fellows, bracing their shoulders against those who couldn’t walk and nosing others to their feet. Monticular moved to join them, but El-ahrairah stepped in front of him.

“You know,” he said. “It was the strangest thing. I thought I was going to lose the fight for sure.”

“I am very glad you succeeded, Rah,” Monticular said, not used to being so close to his leader and wanting to show him the traditional respect. He bowed his head.

“No need for that,” El-ahrairah said with a tired laugh. “Not so soon after a battle.”

Monticular looked up then, glancing down El-ahrairah shoulders and wincing at the missing chunks of fur.

“No, it was strange,” El-ahrairah said, easing himself down so that he was laying. “King Darzin was winning. He had me cornered and I thought he would spill my blood before letting me see Frith another day.”

“How did you win?” Monticular couldn’t help but ask.

“I was struck with a rush of energy,” El-ahrairah said, as if he were confessing something that he didn’t think Monticular would believe. “It came over so suddenly. I jumped over his head and onto his back! We wrestled for a long time. It seemed like a long time. Wrestled like I have never wrestled before.”

Monticular sucked in a quick breath, remembering the story he had told in the burrow. He didn’t want to interrupt his rah though.

“We wrestled,” El-ahrairah said. “Until we tumbled out of the burrow and I was able to kick away. King Darzin fell down the hill we were on and I was free.” He laughed again. “King Darzin rolled into the river and he was gone!”

“That is . . . amazing,” Monticular said, not sure what to make of the story El-ahrairah had told him compared to the one that he had told minutes before.

“It really is,” El-ahrairah said, more to himself than to anyone.

There was a long pause of silence as they both watched the rest of the Warren work, clearing the field and getting everyone to safety. Monticular knew that they would hide in the forest for a long while after this, let King Darzin cool his head and Frith warm the earth. Perhaps after a moon, it would once again be safe to venture into the field.

“Were you telling a story about me, Monticular?” El-ahrairah asked suddenly without warning.

“I . . . I was,” Monticular stammered, not sure if it was insulting to do so, or if El-ahrairah would get angry. “The rabbits. . . . they were scared and I thought I could distract them with a tale of adventure. Of you winning.”

“Hm,” El-ahrairah said, looking back over the field now lost in thought. “Interesting.”

“It was almost the same as when happened,” Monticular offered. He didn't know what else was to be said. “I. . . I made up a story of you fighting King Darzin over a waterfall. You were trapped but you jumped onto his back and used Frith to kick him over the edge.”

El-ahrairah spent a long moment thinking this over. He licked over his wounds briefly but any true care would be don't once they were in the safety of the burrows. Monticular could tell he was just trying to waste a bit if time.

“Interesting,” he repeated.

With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet, shaking himself of dirt and grass and wincing when he jostled his own wounds. He limped off towards the forest and the roots and their safety, sparing a glance over his shoulder at Monticular.

“Come, back to the burrows,” he said. “I think you should sleep with my Owlsa tonight. Close to me.”

“Rah?” Monticular said, bounding after him quickly. “What do you mean? I am not an Owlsa.”

“No,” El-ahrairah said, not angry. More tired than anything. “I will admit, you are not. But you are something else. I think.”

“Rah?” Monticular said. He jumped forward when El-ahrairah stumbled, supporting him with a shoulder.

“I think you are something else,” El-ahrairah said, teeth gritted through the pain. “Something new, that the Warren has never seen before. I think your words have power that you aren't aware of.”

Monticular thought his rah was brain addled, missing too much blood needed to think straight. But he also knew better than to question his leader.

“A Story Weaver,” El-ahrairah mumbled, more to himself than anything. “Words with power.”

“You don’t think the story was a coincidence, do you?” Monticular said. “It must’ve been. I . . . I don’t understand what else it could be.”

El-ahrairah laughed tiredly and leaned on him a bit more. They were almost to the trees now and in a couple moments, they would be inside the burrow and wouldn’t have the the privacy that this conversation needed. Monticular wanted to stop and ask El-ahrairah about everything. What did he mean? Were the stories connected?

“I think your words hold a power that you didn’t know about,” El-ahrairah said. “I think, when you tell stories, you can affect the rabbits around you and you can affect the world as well. The Warren runs on stories just as much as they run on feet. I think Frith has given you to me to tell those stories.”

Monticular didn’t even know how to reply to that. He wasn’t even sure if he understood.

“Frith bless,” El-ahrairah said with a grunt as his wounded hind leg hit a rock, causing him to wince and pause mid-step. “You’ll have to tell a story where I get better,” he said, his tone half teasing and half serious.

“I can,” Monticular offered without thinking. “I guess. If you think it would help.”

They reached the burrows now and crawled into the dark safety of the burrows. In an instant they were surrounded by the rest of the Warren, all clamoring and eager to see if their rah was okay. They all wanted to know what had happened and how El-ahrairah had managed to win and if he was going to bleed out.

Monticular was almost shoved away but El-ahrairah leaned on him a bit more, signalling to everyone else that he needed the support at the moment.

“I think it would help,” he murmured, a private secret between the two of them. “I think your stories will do a lot of help, especially now that we know your power.”

Your power.

_His_ power.

Like an Owlsa, but different. Monticular never thought he would be able to protect his rah that way. It made his chest swell with pride and he thought of the name El-ahrairah had given him earlier. Story Weaver. One who had words of power.

“Settle down, everyone!” El-ahrairah called as they moved deeper into the burrows into the main room the Netcheri had dug out herself. It was a main meeting area where everyone could gather if need be. “Find a place!”

Everyone fumbled to do just that, finding a place in the moss and nests. El-ahrairah took his spot at the far end of hollow, on a small raised mound of dirt. He lay down with a sigh of relief but put out a paw when Monticular moved to disappear into the crowd.

“Everyone, this is Monticular,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over everyone’s whispering. “He can tell us stories.”

Monticular swallowed hard as everyone’s eyes were suddenly on him. He wasn’t sure what to say and he wasn’t sure what to do. El-ahrairah was staring at him with a confidence that Monticular had never been the recipient of. He took a deep breath and then took a seat next to El-ahrairah, feeling out of place next to his rah and not off in the crowd.

“Well,” he said and then cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, before King Darzin existed, when Frith was just starting to fill the world with Elil and Lago.”

And Monticular’s chest swelled as the story took shape in his mind. He continued with more confidence now, El-ahrairah smiling behind him. If his rah was correct and his words did have power, Monticular took pride in knowing that what he spoke would be true.

“El-ahrairah and his Warren lived in peace, with flay aplenty and fields that stretched for miles. And Frith shone down on them, warm and comforting and always.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was very fun to write :3c
> 
> you can find my @manuscript-or on Tumblr if you want


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